


Pyrrhic Victory

by LostCybertronian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Death, M/M, Violence, short oneshot for angst purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:03:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostCybertronian/pseuds/LostCybertronian
Summary: It was a long, hard battle. More losses than wins. They just barely managed to get out alive.





	Pyrrhic Victory

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been on here in a while! Been mostly writing for my account on Tumblr. This fic is a prompt I got on Tumblr.

The air was choked with the acrid stench of sulfur and the copper scent of blood.

_“Sammy!”_ The words burned its way out of Dean’s throat. He coughed, a wet, rattling cough that splattered blood down the front of his shirt and sent pain searing through his chest and down his leg.

“Dean, you need to calm yourself. You’re aggravating you’re injuries.” Cas’ voice was tight and the bright, angelic glow of his eyes flickered, but still he didn’t falter when Dean struggled in his arms, didn’t flinch when Dean’s fist struck at his chest.

“Cas, you- you … bastard! We- we need to go back for Sam!” Dean’s breath came in short wheezes as he strained to look over Cas’ shoulder, searched to catch a glimpse of his brother through the smoke and the ash.

“Sam is gone.” Cas’ voice cracked and he looked away as he said it, unable to watch the hunter’s face crumple into something resembling denial or rage, unable to watch his heart break into a million pieces.

_“Bullshit,”_ he spat, “we have to save-”

“Sam is beyond saving.” Cas looked up, scanned the area around them for any sign of demons, lunging from the smoke, but all he could see were bodies.

Bodies of civilians, caught in the crossfire. Bodies of demons, their mouths gaped wide in twisted snarls. Bodies of angels, framed within the scorched imprints of their wings.

There would soon be more, if the faint howls and screams piercing the night sky somewhere behind them were of any indication.

“But you are not,” Cas continued, “and I have hope that I can get you to a hospital.”

“Why can’t you just zap me with some of your angel juice?” It came out harsher than intended, but Dean didn’t apologize. He was too busy struggling to force air into his lungs. Every breath was agony. “Or … or better yet, leave me with Sam.”

Cas’ jaw clenched and he remained silent. But it was all the answer Dean needed, and all of a sudden he noticed the blood soaking through the torn edges of his trenchcoat- welling up from where angel blades got a little too close- the way his blue eyes flickered like a sputtering lamp, how exhausted he looked and the way his arms trembled as if the act of carrying Dean in his arms was becoming too much.

His angel mojo was running out.

But before he could say anything Cas quickened his pace, shoes thumping over the cracked tar, making a beeline straight into the path of the oncoming headlights.

“Cas-” Dean yelped, but Cas stood firm as the truck got nearer, swerved to the side, and stopped.

“What the hell is going on?” The driver’s door creaked open and a portly man wearing a stained t-shirt and overalls stumbled out. He fixed Dean and Cas with a wide-eyed, shocked stare. “Who the fuck are you?”  
“I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord.” Cas informed him brusquely, brushing by him without a second glance. “And you will be taking us to a hospital.”

—

The man in the truck was a God-fearing man. He was easy to convince, but his tail lights disappeared in clouds of dust the moment Dean was offloaded onto a stretcher and taken inside for emergency surgery.

Still, he would be rewarded for his good deeds.

Out the window he could see the barest hints of color tinting the edges of the horizon, and Cas took a moment to appreciate it before turning back to Dean’s bed, taking his hand, holding it up to his face.

Broken rib, punctured lung, snapped tibia, four hours of surgery, but Dean Winchester lived.

The same couldn’t be said for his brother, or for countless of Cas’ brothers and sisters.

The weight of it all overwhelmed him suddenly. And so, clutching Dean’s hand tighter in his grip, the angel finally let himself begin to weep.


End file.
